


Heroes and Other Childhood Myths

by cavtain (typeBfan)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Civil War Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Steve Rogers, Swearing, Team Everyone Is Going To Be Friends Again, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark's Childhood, jailbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typeBfan/pseuds/cavtain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small change leaves Steve and Bucky on the run from General Ross with a battered Tony in tow. Things go from bad to worse for the other Avengers, forcing the three to work out their issues. Meanwhile it seems Bucky isn't the only one keeping secrets....</p><p>Beware: Civil War spoilers inside. Kicks off during the final fight scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I had too many CA:CW feels and this happened...and then kept happening

Of all the ways Tony Stark imagined he would die it had never been at the hands of Captain America. In hindsight it should not have been a surprise; those close to Tony have proven equally as likely to turn on him as gigantic space monsters. He really should have listened to his gut feeling on this one. Maybe then he would not now find himself pinned and defenceless beneath the unforgiving weight of his former friend.

The arc reactor housing is mangled beyond belief; the power supply disrupted at the armour’s weakest point. Tony’s offensive weapons and repulsors have been rendered offline, helmet comms unit silent but for the odd buzz of static – there would be no salvaging it after the damage Barnes caused while tearing the faceplate away. The bursts of silence are disconcerting, as is the realisation Tony has no way to call for back up or rescue. 

Tony’s stomach give a wild lurch at the same moment Steve pushes up to his knees, expression unchanged from the mask of detached rage. The cold winter light flares along the distinctive shield held high over the super soldier’s head; serum enhanced muscles coiled and ready to act with maximum force.

A bolt of adrenaline has Tony’s veins running lava hot, numbness spreading up his limbs. He needs to move – keep fighting, run away – but his lungs can’t get enough air. All he can do is stare in horror as the shield’s motion reverses, the deadly vibranium edge rushing down towards his neck. Tony’s perception of time slows - a trick of adrenaline - and his panicked thoughts solidify into one moment of absolute clarity. There is no way he will survive such a powerful hit to his unprotected chest. He is going to die.

Before Tony has a chance to process what he’s seeing, Steve changes target at the last moment and the vibranium pierces his battered arc reactor. 

What little air Tony has left in his lungs is forced out by the tremendous impact. Steve bears down with more force, driving his shield in until the reactor is breached. The reactor housing gives out under the tremendous force, crumpling inwards to reveal the power source. There is no pain – Tony has too much scar tissue and nerve damage to feel anything but suffocating pressure – though something gives way with a dull crunch. 

Bright, ethereal blue light leaks from the breached reactor, tendrils rising into Tony’s field of vision. The glow flares white-hot where it contacts the vibranium as the reactor flickers and dies. Steve’s hands loosen on the shield, shoulders heaving from more than physical exertion.

Tony struggles to catch his breath, fighting the fading adrenaline rush. He is still alive. He’s okay - he doesn’t need the arc reactor to live anymore. It is all _okay_ -

Except it _isn’t_ okay. Tony’s lungs constrict under weight that has nothing to do with the shield in his chest or the soldier crouched above him. A dull roar starts ringing in his ears while his vision clouds with patches of black. It feels like the world is shrinking, fading….contracting down and away like Tony’s last gasp of air before the world fades to the blackness of space.

~

Steve is still knelt over Tony when the smaller man starts to gasp and choke, hands pushing weakly at Steve’s chest. The all-consuming fury fades from the super-soldier’s mind, replaced with bewildered concern. Steve casts a quick look back at Bucky who has levered himself to sit propped against the concrete wall. The other man cups his torn left shoulder with an unreadable expression, eyes unfocused.

Meanwhile Tony’s breathing is rapidly worsening, fingers sliding from Steve’s chest to clasp his own ribs. The other man’s face is pale and slick with perspiration and Steve knows in his gut that something is terribly wrong. He quickly slides off Tony to kneel at his side, hands making an abortive move towards the dead arc reactor.

“Tony,” Steve says in an attempt to draw the other man’s attention. “Tony, can you hear me?” 

Tony’s eyes are wide and terrified, pupils blown so wide his irises have shrunk to a bare ring of colour.

“Is it the reactor? Tony?”

Steve moves forward again, stretching a hand out to shake the smaller man’s shoulder roughly. Tony flinches but if anything his focus seems further away.

“Tony, snap out of it!” Steve grabs Tony’s other shoulder, preparing to shake him again. Bucky staggers up behind him, hand gripping Steve’s shoulder in restraint.

“Hold up, punk,” Bucky growls as he pushes up from the floor, stumbling over to clasp Steve’s shoulder and pull him back. 

Steve automatically resists his friend, “Buck, we’ve gotta do something. We can’t just leave him-”

“Watcha doing isnt gonna help.”

Steve yields, allowing Bucky to pull him back. “You know what’s wrong with him?”

“Other than all the shit that just went down?” Bucky replies in a flat tone of voice, expression still closed.

Steve has the sensibility to grimace in response.

“It’s a panic attack.”

Steve turns fully around to face Bucky. “What? Tony doesn’t have panic attacks-”

Tony inhales on a quiet sob, wetness pooling in the corners of his eyes. Steve feels a hot rush of guilt at the sight. Whatever was going on, his actions had most definitely caused it.

“I asked the Hawk what Stark’s deal is,” Bucky says with a lopsided shrug. “He couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me much. He seemed to think telling me about these attacks was important…probably trying to humanise Stark so I’d go easy on the guy. There was no tactical advantage to it.”

Steve shakes his head, frowning. “If Tony was having attacks, I’d know.”

“Right, because he tells you everything.”

Steve bows his head for a moment in defeat, before another sob has him rallying. Despite the fact they were now on opposite sides of the fence, Steve had always sworn to do what he could for those in need and he wasn’t about to break a lifelong oath. “What do I do? How can I stop it?”

Bucky shakes his head negative. “Barton said it’ll stop when it’s done.”

“Buck, he’s struggling to breathe,” beseeches Steve. “Can we at least get the armour off?”

Bucky acquiesces reluctantly. “Get your shield out, I’ll find the armour release.”

Steve carefully twists the vibranium free of Tony’s mangled chestplate. As his shield comes loose, he realises his strength had rammed it deeper than he thought. He had made a split in the reactor down to the interior casing; half an inch more and the shield would have hit flesh. Steve had reacted on instinct to protect Bucky, but ignored the fact that Tony was all too vulnerable beneath his armoured exterior. It was sheer luck that Tony hadn’t been more seriously injured or killed. The feeling of shame swells again, guilt pooling in Steve’s stomach.

“Got it,” announces Bucky, jerking Steve from the beginnings of mental self-flagellation. The other man had been searching one-handed for the armour release along Tony’s right side. “There’s a dial under the hip-plating, should be one on your side too.”

Steve finds the matching dial quickly and the armour starts clicking away section-by-section. The chest plate and helmet pop loose from the other pieces, the metal too damaged to fold away. Steve clears away the portions as they come loose, leaving Tony in the formal suit underneath. 

“Now what?” Steve asks, his eyes fixed on Tony’s grey, blank face.

The question is answered by Tony abruptly rolling on his side to vomit.

Bucky is unaffected while Steve looks on with alarm. “Normal,” Bucky comments. 

“ _This_ is _normal_?!” Steve scoots closer to Tony, gently holding his shoulder to keep him on his side. Tony weakly tries to pull away but Bucky is right behind him still. Tony ends up trapped with his back against Bucky’s thigh, automatically using it as support as he continues to retch.

“For him. Means he’s getting to the end of it.”

“And Clint told you all this?” Steve questions disbelievingly. 

“Mighta done some reading around too.” Bucky flashes a tense smirk Steve’s way.

“Why?”

Bucky shrugs dismissively. “Know your enemy and all that.”

Steve’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth but stays quiet. His hand has slipped from Tony’s shoulder around to the nape of his neck. Tony is busy dry heaving now, the extreme adrenaline rush leaving him weak and shaky. Steve guiltily applies gentle pressure in a way he hopes feels grounding for the other man.

“I never wanted it to go like this,” confesses Steve quietly. He glances across at Bucky who is still kneeling against Tony’s back. “I couldn’t lose- but I never meant to...I didn’t…”

Tony’s stopped retching now and seems to be coming back to awareness, sucking in big gulps of cold arctic air. His hands move up to press trembling palms against his eyelids. Steve keeps squeezing Tony’s nape rhythmically, not knowing what else to do other than wait for a cue from the other man.

Bucky breaks his silence with a disbelieving sigh. “Jesus, Rogers. Me and him are mutual enemies and I’d still do better than that.”

Before Steve can ask what the hell his friend means, Bucky has pulled Tony up by his suit jacket and thrust him bodily at Steve. Steve is forced to catch Tony up against his chest to keep him from falling face first onto the concrete.

“Buck! You can’t just,” Steve snaps, hands gesturing vaguely before realising that Tony is curling into him, head buried firmly against Steve’s collarbone. With Tony jammed right up against him, Steve can feel the shakes running through his body. “Alright,” he says as much to steady Tony as himself, “just breathe.”

Bucky makes a ‘go on’ gesture at Steve behind Tony’s back.

“We can’t pretend this shitshow never happened. We drew battlelines and its not over yet, but you were right about one thing- I was your friend…and seeing what just happened to you- _causing_ what just happened to you- this is something I will never forgive myself for.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone in this state but we’re fugitives now. So let’s set everything aside for now, okay? I know you aren’t going to like this when you’re back to yourself. We can have words then but, for now, come with me?”

Tony shrugs under Steve’s heavy arms, his face too hidden in Steve’s chest to get a read on his thoughts.

“I’m going to take that as permission,” says Steve. He collects his shield, hooking it into place on his back before rearranging his lower body to be able to push himself and Tony upright. “Hold on.” Fighting gravity takes more effort than usual with battle-worn muscles. He gets them upright with Tony mostly slumped against his right side.

Bucky starts to lead the way towards the surface, swaying unsteadily between each step. Steve is quick to catch up to him, despite Tony’s semi-catatonic state. The blond offers his free side to lean against, to which Bucky gratefully accepts. Bucky is careful to avoid touching Tony as he drapes his remaining arm over Steve’s shoulders. Together they stagger back to the quinjet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone else think for one horrible moment that Steve was going to decapitate Tony before he went for the reactor? Like holy crapola that scene was intense.


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks :) Writing civil war fix-it > Uni work....this is unintentionally turning into a full-fledged, multi-chaptered fic

Steve gets his two injured companions settled in the quinjet passenger hold. Bucky already seems steadier on his feet, his augmented physiology starting to kick in to counteract the beating his body had taken. Tony, on the other hand, has curled into a tight ball in the furthest corner from Bucky. The inventor had remained unresponsive during the awkward trek back. Steve had wanted to try to draw him out but a stern look from Bucky had his mouth quickly snapping closed.

Steve keeps Bucky’s wordless caution in mind as he digs through the quinjet’s emergency supplies. His friend was right to warn him off of interrupting the fragile ceasefire Tony’s panic attack had inadvertently caused. They were all still standing on a knife’s edge and Steve wasn’t known for his ability with words…well, at least not for his ability to find the right ones.

Digging out a bundle of thermal blankets, Steve shakes a couple open and drapes them over Tony’s shoulders. Tony is aware enough to grab the leading edge and pull the whole lot over his head. Steve exhales forcefully, broad shoulders slumping a little as he moves over to where Bucky has settled in the navigator’s chair. He unfolds the last blanket, tossing it gently over Bucky before the other man has a chance to refuse. Bucky dips his chin slightly in thanks, tucking the navy blue cloth over the torn remains of his left shoulder.

“Thanks, punk.”

Steve lets out a sad little laugh. “Jerk.”

“You know it,” retorts Bucky in a tone that’s a touch too serious for their traditional banter. Steve clasps his friend’s good shoulder.

“I’m going to duck out to do a walkround. I don’t expect any tampering but Zemo may have set contingency plans. Can you….” Steve trails off, shifting his gaze purposefully in Tony’s direction.

“Yeah, I’ll keep watch.”

Steve is thorough in his inspection, relying on knowledge gained from SHIELD and Tony to check the quinjet over. He finds no sign of damage but spends extra time clearing ice from the engines’ air intakes. His uniform is wet and icy cold by the time he returns inside.

“Your super human, not invincible,” is Bucky’s first comment upon seeing Steve’s half-frozen state. Steve just shrugs, searching for his bug out bag. Bucky snorts his amusement before grabbing the duffel from the storage locker beside the navigator’s position. “Hope you packed warm.”

The blond catches the bag easily, stripping off his water-logged gloves before he starts rifling through the pack. He fishes out trackpants and a hoodie, digging further underneath various weapons and MREs for a pair of thick wool socks.

“Here.” Bucky holds out his blanket. “Towel off. I’ll get the heating going now you’re done with the engines.”

Steve is eager to comply, kicking off his boots and socks to dry off his blue-tinged toes. His suit is a struggle to strip out of, clinging uncomfortably even with the zips undone. The artic air is almost painful on his exposed body and Steve quickly bundles up in Bucky’s body-warm blanket. It takes skill to get his fresh set of clothes on under the blanket without dropping anything but Steve had got plenty of practice in the war. Not that nudity had ever been an issue for him, changing beneath blankets had become more an exercise in retaining as much warmth as possible.

Bucky has the engines started by the time Steve is finished dressing. Steve grabs a medkit and heads up to the pilot’s chair. Bucky takes the kit before Steve has a chance to offer to help, moving to the co-pilot position to sort out his various minor injuries and bandage over the mangled inner-workings of his bionic arm.

Steve fiddles with the controls while Bucky works, running through system checks that he knows his friend has already done. Bucky stays quiet, knowing that Steve always thinks better if he has something to do with his hands. 

“I reckon we’re off the Avenger’s Facility’s welcome list,” wisecracks Steve after a long moment of comfortable silence. “Broke a couple bridges there.”

“And an airport,” is Bucky’s contribution. “Could go for a sleepover at Ross’.”

“Word is the food aint that great.”

“Deal breaker.”

“Got any bolt holes left?” Steve hopefully returns.

“You kinda broke my last place.”

“The windows were not my fault.”

“Sure,” Bucky says in an ambiguous tone. “What about you? Got any safe houses?”

“I usually just crash at a friends.”

“Any of your friends got houses?”

“They’re all Avengers. Or in jail….or both.”

“You need to get out more.” Steve pauses his fiddling to glare darkly at Bucky. “I’m not surprised you’ve heard that before.”

“Thanks, Buck. What about…you think Tony has somewhere…”

“It’s the first place Ross’ll look. Stark’s gonna be America’s most wanted after you and me.”

“So we rule out all his properties then.”

Bucky pauses halfway into agreeing with Steve. “There is one place.”

“Go on,” Steve prompts after Bucky stays silent, eyes far away.

“Even now I can remember the exact layout, nothing’s changed since….” Bucky breaks off, expression haunted. “It’ll be the last place on Ross’ list, but you aint gonna like it.”

“We’re not coming up with many options. If you think it’s off the grid and defensible-”

“It’s more than defensible. I wouldn’t call it off the grid.”

“Buck, come on,” entreats Steve. “We gotta get moving, do you have a place or not?”

“Head for America, I’ll plug the coordinates into the nav computer.” Bucky stuffs supplies haphazardly back into the medkit in his lap. “Make sure we’re in stealth mode or we’ll be detected straight away when we get closer.”

“Already done.”

“Good.”

Steve flicks one last glance at the radar display before firing the engines up to take off speed. The quinjet gracefully lifts into the air, rapidly gaining height. Steve sets the autopilot once they reach cruising altitude, the feeling of stepping away from the controls while flying still jarring horrifically with his natural instinct. He doesn’t think he will ever get used to self-guided transport but at least he understands enough to trust the machines now.

Bucky chucks the medkit at Steve as he gets up, tipping his head towards the passenger hold. “Stark aint gonna want me back there.”

Steve follows his friend’s nod, noting that Tony is still baled up under his pile of thermal blankets. Steve approaches the bundle carefully, still set completely off-kilter by the state Tony had been in. He stops a few metres out, taking a moment to watch for the rise and fall of Tony’s breathing. The other man must have heard his approach as he shifts under the shelter he’d made.

“Tony,” Steve begins uncertainly, “I’m going to leave this first aid kit out for you. There’s bottled water and some energy bars in the side pocket.” He waits in case Tony needs his help but the answering stillness is dismissal enough. “All right, come out when you’re ready.”

He turns away in time to catch Bucky watching with an odd expression on his face. It slides from his face in a heartbeat - too quick for Steve to decipher – but is replaced with a look of approval.

“What?” Steve asks once he’s out of Tony’s space.

“Nothin’,” replies Bucky. He tilts his head back against the co-pilots chair, eyes sliding closed. “I input those coordinates, wake me up when you see land.”

Steve settles beside Bucky. He leaves the autopilot engaged and finally allows his mind to wander, watching the endless ocean pass by below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has terrible ideas :S


	3. Homecoming

They swap pilots as the east coast of America comes into view on the horizon, Steve cautiously shaking Bucky awake before heading to the navigator’s chair to nap. He glances Tony’s way as he settles in. The brunet has opened the first aid kit at some point in the flight, though Steve cannot tell what he’s taken from the box. Tony’s blankets have slipped down to pool around his shoulders, face turned in Steve’s direction but eyelids closed. His chin has sunk low against his chest in sleep. Steve would usually help him into a more comfortable position – has done many times before after finding Tony passed out on the nearest flat surface – but refrains.

He turns away from Tony, concentrating on relaxing his mind and body. It’s difficult to clear his thoughts enough to drowse but he must manage to because Bucky is suddenly in front of him, looking down expectantly.

“Wha?” mumbles Steve, scrubbing his face roughly against an arm to get his brain going again.

“We’ve landed.” Bucky is stalking back to the cockpit, looking as agile as ever.

“How long was I out?”

“Coupla hours.”

“Right.” Steve still feels sub-human but heaves himself up anyway. “Where are we?”

“New York.”

“Sorry did you just say-”

“You heard me. I said before you aint gonna like it.”

“Buck, New York is the grid; the Avenger’s Facility is here!”

“Ideal cover.”

“Dammit Bucky, this is a terrible plan.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Steve can’t help an irritated sigh. HYDRA may have planned to turn Bucky into the Winter Soldier but really they had got the opposite. Obviously no brainwashing equipment in the world was strong enough to overwrite Bucky's warped sense of humour. Privately he wonders if HYDRA let his friend go because they'd had enough of him. “Are you going to tell me the rest?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Steve can feel a tension headache forming. “Let’s move on. Is it safe out there?”

“As houses.”

“Which never are, in my experience.”

Bucky shoots Steve a look that says it was just a turn of phrase. “It’s safe. Infrared showed no life in the vicinity. The quinjet EMP’ll knock out any bugs long enough to S&D. Come on, grab Stark and we’ll head out.”

Steve is intentionally louder on this approach to Tony. The other man had been so shaken he'd let Steve help him out of Siberia without a fight. Steve wasn’t fool enough to think he should try that again now.

“Hey, Tony,” Steve says softly when there is no response to his approach. The supersoldier gets close enough to see that Tony’s eyes are closed, breath regular and light. He must have slept through the landing. “Time to get up.” He crouches beside the sleeping man, keeping a careful distance in case Tony startles awake. Steve tries again to rouse their companion with the same result.

“Buck?” he asks, knowing his friend is at his back without needing to look.

Bucky is about to suggest a more physical approach when his eyes clock the open first aid kit at Tony’s side. “Check the medkit.”

Steve quickly grabs the discarded bag, pushing some loose pressure bandages aside to find a foil packet of pills stashed beneath.

“What you got?”

“Avinza?” Steve says, reading the miniscule brand printed on the yellow and white tablets. “Isn’t that-”

“Morphine. How many?”

“Two, I think.”

“Course he went straight for the good shit. Forget about waking him up, there’s a bed he can sleep it off in.”

Steve turns back to Tony without hesitation, pausing to take his pulse before hoisting him up, blankets and all. Bucky leads the way from the quinjet, grabbing Steve’s shield on his way out.

They step out into pitch darkness. Steve assumes it must be the middle of the night wherever Bucky has taken them until the assassin bumps a light switch with his elbow. Lights snap on to reveal a large warehouse structure, a giant retractable roof sliding closed overhead. The sudden brightness illuminates canvas-covered shapes and dusty machinery scattered randomly about the room. None of it appears particularly modern, looking more like a converted barn than an aircraft hangar.

“This better not be a HYDRA base,” Steve gripes, thinking of Zola and the SSR facility crashing down around his ears.

“Wasn’t last time I checked.”

“And when was that?”

Bucky gives an uneven shrug. Steve figures he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nevermind. This place is pretty rough, you sure it’s good enough to hole up in indefinitely?”

“This is just the garage.”

“I knew that,” Steve deadpans, comfortable warmth spreading in his chest from the friendly banter. God, he’d missed this Bucky – his quick-witted, snarky best friend.

“Follow me.”

Bucky weaves through stacks of unidentifiable clutter with ease, passing beneath a bulky shape that decidedly resembles the gun turret of a tank. Finally they reach a hidden side door. Bucky has to momentarily drop the shield to key a series of numbers into the old-fashioned electronic lock. The screen flashes from red to green as the lock pops open. Bucky pulls the door aside to reveal a long, dimly lit corridor.

The room they step out into at the other end of the corridor is the polar opposite of what Steve had been expecting: from his limited knowledge of home decorating, they seem to have emerged into the grand entrance of someone's home. The space is airy and well-lit with two massive, intricately carved staircases curling elegantly upwards. The furnishings appear to be stylish tributes to classical pieces, including a heavy crystal chandelier. The whole place looks surprisingly neat and well-cared for.

Steve whistles under his breath. “Colour me impressed.”

Bucky just gestures towards another side door to their right, “Bed’s that way. I’ll sweep the other floors.” He disappears out of sight up the stairs before he even finishes speaking. 

The door Steve shoulders past leads into a wide corridor. The hardwood floors and tasteful décor continue, lending the whole place an old money feel. There is even what appears to be a functional elevator. Just how many floors were there exactly?

Steve has no trouble finding the bedroom Bucky had directed him to. It is set just to the side of the lift and the door is ajar. The room itself is mid-size and fully furnished, though devoid of personal effects. A guest room? 

Steve juggles Tony into one arm, using his free hand to turn down the floral quilt on the double bed. The cream coloured sheets are a little musty but clean. He sets his cargo down gently upon them, efficiently stripping away the thermal blankets and arranging Tony into a comfortable position. The brunet sighs and shifts restlessly, eyes flickering but ultimately staying closed. Steve takes the chance to examine the extent of Tony’s injuries, thankful to find only scratches and bruising. Satisfied that there is nothing more he can do, Steve tucks the quilt over Tony and leaves the other man to his rest.

Steve does a quick scout around the ground floor before heading upstairs to ferret out Bucky. He discovers the lower level houses several large disused rooms alongside a kitchen, parlour, formal dining room and multiple restrooms. The majority of rooms are fully furnished including contemporary but somewhat dated appliances. The fridge is empty but the walk-in pantry is fully stocked with non-perishables; Steve has lived off worse. 

The second floor is equally lavish, featuring a sitting room and well-stocked library. There are more disused bedrooms on this level that Steve almost overlooks until he hears movement inside the master bedroom. Steve enters to find Bucky busy rolling a bundle of paper up on a side table.

“Find something interesting?” prompts Steve, knowing his friend would have heard his approach long ago.

Bucky snaps a rubber band around the tube he’s created. “How’s Stark?”

“Fine, still sleeping. What did you find?”

“S'nothing important. You check the kitchen? Aint been anyone round here for a while but-”

“Bucky.” Steve holds a hand out expectantly.

“You ain't goin'-”

“-to like it. Got it, just hand it over.”

Bucky complies reluctantly. Steve rolls the rubber band off, flattening the sheaf of papers out across the bed. He recognises the daft costume on the uppermost sheet immediately; Captain America stares back at him from a vintage war bonds poster. Steve carefully slides that one aside to expose a few smaller snaps of him in various war time uniforms and civilian clothes. At the back is a large print of the Howling Commandos, the Smithsonian logo stamped in the bottom right corner.

“Someone's a fan,” slips out of Steve’s mouth before he can stop it. He starts to roll the posters back up saying, "You didn't need to hide them for my sake," but freezes as he spots the handwritten captions on the backsides of the photos. The chicken scratch penmanship is distinctive enough, never mind the accompanying initials. Steve's stomach clenches as he brandishes the offending papers in Bucky's direction.

"This is Howard's writing!"

"Stevie-"

"Don't you 'Stevie' me! Is this why you were hiding them?"

"I was gonna-"

"Stow them away? You didn't think I'd want to see these? It's bad enough we're squatting in some rich Captain America fanatic's house..." Steve trails off, eyes catching on a half-dozen picture frames lying facedown on an ornate dresser.

"Steve don't!" Bucky commands.

The blond pushes past, grabbing a frame at random. The photo is of a middle-aged couple holding a tiny baby but is too old and faded to make out any details. He swaps it out for another.

The second photo is much clearer; a young, dark-haired boy is perched atop his father's shoulders, watching with rapt attention as the man points at something outside the picture. Howard is easily recognisable, even with his greying hair and creased skin. With dawning horror, Steve grabs another photo, flipping it to reveal a teenage Tony Stark playing a piano duet with his mother.

Steve's fingers go weak with shock, the frames falling into the dresser with a bang. He scans the room with a new perspective, noting the smattering of dated technology that would once have been top of the range.

"This is the Stark family mansion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes terrible life choices...really Steve should know better by now
> 
> Thanks for all the love, Tony isn't gonna be impressed when he wakes up ;)


	4. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of flying f-bombs this chapter, duck.

Tony wakes slowly, awareness of his surroundings seeping in reluctantly. Wherever he is its well lit and comfortable, a mattress or couch of some sort. Good, his body aches all over. Must have been one hell of a party. He knows he’s going to regret opening his eyes before he does it. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time curiosity killed the Tony. 

His eyes pop grudgingly, flicking rapidly around the room. The walls are painted sunflower yellow, the floor a dark hardwood and ornate bedframe to match. There is one small window with a view out onto immaculately kept rolling green lawns. He recognises the bedroom with a strange sort of emotional detachment. This was Edwin Jarvis’ room.

The furniture is devoid of personal belongings – no pocket watch on the nightstand or freshly pressed suits hanging in the wardrobe. These have been absent since the accident, since Jarvis had taken quarters in the guesthouse.

The memories are fresh in Tony’s mind, made all the more prominent by his surroundings; he feels as if he’s travelled twenty-five years back in time. That’s the beauty of his latest creation - with Binary Augmented Retroframing technology you could literally relive your memories or rework them as you chose. He must have fallen asleep with the headgear on, it wouldn’t be the first time or the last. At least he’d be living proof that long-term exposure to BARF has no adverse effects.

Tony swings himself out of bed, toes curling in the soft round floor rug. He had well and truly perfected the tactile feedback software. It’s moments like these he impresses even himself.

He makes his way out into the corridor. Its hard to pinpoint when exactly this memory is from. Obviously post-accident, but he had only been back to the mansion a bare handful of times after that. Well, hopefully it wasn’t the time he got blackout drunk on the five year anniversary of Howard and Maria Stark’s deaths…or the tenth, fifteenth, twentieth or twenty-fifth anniversaries. He definitely feels sore and rough enough to be hungover.

The ground floor is empty but as he makes a pass through the main entrance hall he hears raised voice from upstairs. Weird.

Tony considers he may be mixing memories as he climbs the winding staircase. There were supposed to be safeguards in the BARF programming to stop memory integration from occurring unless the user purposely edited the original memory. 

Perhaps he was mixing a pre-accident memory with the post-accident setting. His parents had often fought during his teen years, mostly about their rebellious, unruly son. Howard had wanted to ship him off to boarding school as he had been, and his father, and his father before, etc. while Maria had strongly opposed him. At the time it had made Tony angrier, wilder; now he only felt guilt.

As he draws closer he can tell there are only two people arguing, both voices male. Obadiah Stane and Howard maybe? They often had loud disagreements over business, and Tony. His dad’s bedroom door is wide open, so Tony follows the voices in. 

It takes a moment to process the two supersoldiers squaring off against each other. Okay, definitely mixing memories then. Or the program was glitching massively.

“It was the only safe house we had left!” the shorter man exclaims defensively.

“I don’t care, Buck! This was Tony’s childhood, we had no right to come here! We just told him you…fuck.”

“Yeah, this program is definitely bugging out,” muses Tony. “This is not at all what happened. Your supposed to be Stane,” he points towards Bucky who has instinctively frozen in surprise, “and you’re my old man,” this time said to Steve. “This was the big ‘dad off’ of August ’91.

“Stane thought dad shouldn’t let me go back to campus. Reckoned it would be better for the company’s public image if I studied my degree externally. Bit hard to party it up if I wasn’t actually at MIT. Dad didn’t want me anywhere near his tech, though. Guess neither of them got what they wanted in the end.”

The two other men are still staring at Tony in stunned silence.

“Anyway, this program’s obviously spazzed. FRIDAY. Record the datalog and search for point of memory divergence. We’re not programming for spliced memories, though that is an interesting concept…”

“Tony?” buggy Captain America asks. “Where exactly do you think you are?”

“Stark mansion,” Tony answers absently, mind already considering the possibility of self-guided memory splicing.

Steve turns a bewildered look to Bucky.

“Better question is where did you come from?” Tony waves his hand expectantly in a specific pattern at chest height, the gesture to turn BARF off. The holographic projection does not collapse. Tony gestures again. “FRIDAY, is your motion tracking software down? Shut down projection.”

There is no response and Tony reaches up to pull the BARF neural interface from his head. His hands search futilely for the crown of electrodes. Nothing.

“What the hell?” He automatically grabs for his pants pocket, finding only the Iron Man undersuit. His head comes up, eyes wide in realisation. “This is real.”

“Tony,” Steve starts, tone anxious.

Tony lurches away, grabbing onto the all too familiar dresser as his knees go weak. “Shit, you’re real. The mansion is real. This is all-” he cuts off abruptly, whirling to face the two soldiers. “How dare you! Who the fuck gave you the right to come here?!” His grip on the dresser is white knuckled. “Is this some sick game to you?”

At this moment, he spots the photoframes still lying facedown on the dresser; one of them has touched his parent’s most treasured family photos. Violence claws at Tony’s insides, the urge to lash out rising like bile in his throat. He snatches the photos up in a rage, rounding on the two intruders. “You. Sick. Fucking. Bastards!” he roars, punctuating every word by hurling each frame at the men. 

Steve snags the two aimed at him to save them crashing to the floor. Bucky can only catch one, the other finding its mark high on his cheek. His head rocks back at the force of the blow, the frame bouncing off and smashing as it hits the hardwood floor. The photo lands face up, glass smashed and frame bent, but its still possible to make out the image of newborn Tony cradled in his parents’ arms. 

There is strained silence for a long moment as Bucky stares at the broken picture by his feet, expression pained. Tony feels feral pride at the sight of the assassin’s cheek bleeding sluggishly but it doesn’t appear to even register on the other man’s radar. Instead Bucky backs away from the broken photo before abruptly fleeing.

Tony is left breathing hard, hands shaking by his sides from the adrenaline rush. He can’t stand Steve seeing his reaction, so he folds his arms over his chest, hands tucked into armpits.

The silence continues for what feels like forever. Finally Steve moves, dropping to one knee beside the shattered frame. He carefully puts the two photos he saved down before lifting their less fortunate friend. The glass shards slide off as he flips the frame, unclipping the wooden back to remove the old photo.

There are some faint scratches around the picture’s edge but the focus appears undamaged. Steve reverently places it atop the other photos, collecting the lot in his big hands. He spies a draw in the bedside table and deposits the frames inside, figuring the will be safer out of harm’s reach. That done, he approaches Tony warily.

“You’re right, Tony. We had no right to come here. We’ll leave as soon as we can without compromising your safety.” Steve shuffles his feet uncertainly. “For what little it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That’s fucking big of you,” snarls Tony, still on the attack. “Guess you need to go find your buddies. Tell them all it was my fault it went down like this – I’m fucked up enough, they wont need any convincing!” He knows he’s ranting but now he’s started he can’t stop. “Couple days at Casa de Stark’s Childhood Trauma and you can fly away with Sergeant Frostbite. Go break your ducklings out of The Raft, get back to working under the radar. You’ll be the underdog hero again; justice and freedom for all.

Steve breaks eye contact, shoulders sagging. Tony thinks he should be happier to be right but his whole world is collapsing.

“Thought as much. Be my guest. I’ve tried so fucking hard to do the right thing. This time I thought it was something we could all get behind – protection for us, from us. I mean it was the fucking United Nations! They’re all for Ghandi and smoking peace pipes and all that good shit. A guiding hand, something to keep our moral compass due North; keep our heads on straight.

“I spent weeks in negotiations and behind the scenes with my entire legal department. Got it all hashed out, every clause worked over a hundred times. Then I ballsed it up, thought you’d all understand my intentions…recognise the shitstorm that was Sokovia. I’ll wear that for the rest of my life, in here-” Tony presses clenched knuckles roughly against his sternum “-where it can keep all my other fuck ups company.”

The inventor’s tone carries such self-loathing that Steve flinches, disturbed by the strength of hatred in Tony’s voice. The Tony Steve knows is flashy, confident and self-obsessed. Always the one to put in a snide remark or strut around like a peacock, so in love with himself that Steve often feels disgusted at Tony’s behaviour. 

And now Steve’s entire perspective is crumbling, reforming to fit the sudden terrible realisation dawning in his mind. What if that Tony was just a shell of a person, a construct to wear as another layer of armour around the real Tony Stark?

Every conversation and interaction he has ever had with Tony – so damn insecure in his self-worth - burns bright with new meaning. Steve can see now that the crass, grating interactions have one purpose for Tony: to push a wedge between himself and anyone that could possibly get close enough to hurt him. Again. Living his life forever braced for the next inevitable blow.

How could Steve have been so absolutely clueless to miss this before? Or was this just the first time Tony had truly let his shields down in Steve’s presence? It feels as if Steve has had the borders of a puzzle for years and suddenly found the entire middle; just like that, the whole picture became something completely different.

Steve doesn’t know what to say, can’t even be sure if he would be able to speak with the soul-crushing weight of his discovery. Instead he reacts on deep-rooted instinct, gently pulling Tony’s hand away from where it is still digging painfully into his chest. Steve uses that clasp to hold Tony in place as he crowds forward, encircling the other man in the most comforting hug he is capable of giving.

Tony’s body is stiff and unmoving as Steve wraps his free arm around Tony’s shoulder blades, hand cradling his neck and head. Steve guides their torsos closer together, the height difference meaning Tony is cheek to pectoral with him, crown tucked under Steve’s chin. He lets Tony’s hand slide out of his grip, curling the now free arm around Tony’s lower back. Tony resists the embrace, muscles tensing until Steve finally manages to get his voice back under control.

“I understand, Tony,” he sighs into the shorter man’s black hair. “I didn’t before, but I can see it now – what you were trying to do.” The hand on Tony’s lower back begins a slow sweep up and down the curve of his spine. “Why you were trying to do it.”

All at once Tony’s resistance breaks, his limp body slumping forward against Steve’s unrelenting strength. Steve holds him up easily, feeling the stilted rise and fall of Tony’s chest against his own. Tony’s arms come up around Steve’s shoulders, hands grasping the loose hoodie the taller man is still wearing. Steve doesn’t think Tony is crying but it’s difficult to tell through the thick fleece jumper.

They stay like that for as long as Tony allows. Steve’s mind is going a million miles a minute, churning out so many questions and platitudes he desperately wants to voice but does not. This may represent the dam breaking, a small, fragile bridge forming between them again, but Steve knows they have only just begun to scratch the surface of reconciling the issues between them – never mind those with Bucky or the other Avengers.

Tony eventually breathes a cathartic sigh, pushing back gently from Steve’s chest. The blond lets him go, wishing there was more he could do to console Tony now he has seen a hint of how deep his hurt is.

“You should bottle that,” Tony weakly quips. Steve can see the tiny changes in posture as Tony struggles to get his walls up again; now he knows what to look for it is painfully obvious. “Would turn a fair profit.”

Steve carefully takes Tony’s wrist, long fingers trailing down against the palm. “Don’t do that.”

“Well duh, would be pretty impossible to synthesise and bottle a Captain America bear hug-”

“Tony,” interrupts Steve, voice still soft. “I mean your walls. You don’t have to armour up or put distance between us. I promise I am not going to hurt you.”

“Oh…yeah, that. Habit I guess. Or self-preservation. Pepper thinks-” Tony’s eyes snap closed, face pained. Steve rubs up and down his forearm comfortingly. Tony takes several long, deep breaths before opening them again, looking haunted. No one on the team knew what had happened between the two lovers but Steve has his suspicions. “I’m not….good with people.”

“I’d say people haven’t been good with you,” Steve rebuts, holding solid, honest eye contact.

Tony looks so vulnerable in that moment that Steve just wants to reel him back in for another hug. But he resists, remembering the situation they are in and Bucky, wherever the other man had got to. 

“I do want to sit down and talk some more, Tony, but I think we should change and eat first. Why don’t you go wash off and I’ll scrounge up some food. Take as long as you like, I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” Steve vigilantly leaves anything to do with Bucky out of the conversation.

Tony nods, exhausted both physically and mentally. Steve heads out the door, pausing in the corridor to listen as the ensuite bathroom to Howard’s room clicks closed. He hopes he’s made the right call giving Tony a break to process his thoughts. In any case, Steve is a firm believer that tempers are usually better with a full stomach.

He finds Bucky already seated at the kitchen counter, shoulders tense, hand resting on the final photoframe Tony had hurled. Obviously Bucky had fled with it still in hand but Steve is confused as to why his friend has sat for so long studying it.

Steve slides onto the bar stool on Bucky’s right, avoiding his vulnerable left side.

“Watcha doing?”

Bucky pushes the photo across the marble counter to Steve. It’s the photo of Tony and his mom at the piano. “He was s’posed to be there.”

“What?” Steve frowns, searching for something he’d missed in the photo.

“Memory flash, when that picture fell," mutters Bucky, looking lost. "The mission, I had orders….Tony Stark was s’posed to be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stir for four chapters and leave plot to thicken :D
> 
> Thanks for the lovely kudos/comment/subscriptions/bookmarks, Steve hugs to you all!


	5. Burgers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is a good mum

The kitchen counter crunches as Steve grabs the edge. He had been shocked when Bucky chose to confide in him over the deaths of Tony’s parents, but the absolute truth of HYDRA’s brutality is hard to process. The Winter Soldier hadn’t just received orders to retrieve the serum from the Starks: a kill order had been put on the entire family.

“Buck-”

“You shoulda noticed I know this place too well,” interrupts Bucky, cutting across Steve’s alarmed exclamation. “The hit was supposed to happen here. HYDRA had the blueprints and I scouted the property for days. I pinned down all of their routines, planned the most efficient way to neutralise each target.”

“Why did your orders change?” questions Steve, still mentally reeling from Bucky’s latest revelation.

“SHIELD got wind that HYDRA was making an immediate move for the serum. Howard organised to bring it to SHIELD HQ. It was past midnight and Maria didn’t want him driving alone. They didn’t know I was tailing them from the mansion. You saw the rest.”

“And Tony? Why didn’t you…”

“Orders changed. Word was that someone on the inside made contact with HYDRA. Whatever happened changed the plan for Stark. I reckon HYDRA figured he could be more useful to them alive.”

Something clicks in Steve’s brain and he feels ill. HYDRA had known about Tony’s childhood brilliance, planned to use him to further their agenda. The thought of what could have happened is almost too much to bear.

There is a long moment of silence while Steve wrestles his emotions back under control. Finally he turns to Bucky and says, “We need to keep this between us.”

“You hit your head in Siberia?” the brunet exclaims in disbelief. “We’ve already tried the keeping secrets routine and that turned out fucking fantastic!” growls Bucky, gesturing at his dismembered appendage as evidence.

“And that was on me, I should have broken the news to him when you told me. You were in no position to but I was his friend and I owed him that much. Maybe things would be different, maybe they wouldn’t. But trust me Bucky, he’s not ready to know this. You didn’t hear what he-…. I don’t think he can take much more.”

“Fine. Warn me first though so I can get out his way. This time it can be your limbs on the line when it turns to shit.”

“Thank you.” Steve squeezes Bucky’s good shoulder. The other man shrugs beneath his friend’s hand, snatching the discarded photo from in front of Steve and turning away. The blond takes it as his cue to move onto finding food, knowing Bucky will find him if he needs to talk.

It takes a while to search through the kitchen for anything edible. The cupboards and pantry have been left well-stocked, but on closer inspection it appears all the items are circa 1991. As it turns out, non-perishable foods do perish if left in their cans for 26 years. Even the trusty tins of baked beans have rusted over time. Steve leaves the walk in pantry empty-handed. Bucky is still hunched over the photo, face blank.

“All the food’s gone bad,” announces Steve into the silence.

Bucky seems to shudder back to awareness, blank façade forgotten momentarily as his expression crumples with pain and guilt. He is quick to correct the slip but Steve sees enough to know his friend is feeling more than he lets on.

“I’m going to have to go out,” the blond continues, pretending to be oblivious. “You want anything?”

“Nothin’ special.”

“Sure. I shouldn’t take too long.” 

Steve has made it most of the way down the corridor to the foyer before Bucky calls out, “Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

“A baseball cap is a crap disguise.”

Steve sighs and shakes his head in amusement. It had been his go to prop in the past but Bucky did have a point. Steve searches the ground floor for more suitable accessories but comes up empty. It seems the majority of rooms have been thoroughly cleaned of any personal belongings. He ends up in Howard’s room again, browsing the contents of the dresser. He unearths a grey parka and a charcoal coloured set of scarf, gloves and watch cap. The parka just about fits his broad shoulders as long as doesn’t bring his arms up. Luckily it is dark outside and cold enough that people wont look twice at someone rugged up to the eyeballs.

Steve spends a long moment deliberating whether he should disturb Tony. The other man is still in the bathroom; Steve can hear the water running in the shower. Thinking it best to ask if he needs anything, Steve knocks politely on the hardwood frame. “I’m doing a grocery run, want anything?”

There is no response and Steve turns to go. He stops partway across the room as Tony’s finally says, “Hamburgers?”

“Can do,” he calls back. “Anything else?”

“Coffee. Instant is fine; it can taste like shit as long as its caffeinated.”

“You got it.” Steve continues his path across the room, the corner of his lips curling up at Tony’s more than predictable requests.

“Cap?”

He stops again, turning back to face the bathroom door even though it’s firmly closed. “Yeah, Tony.”

“You know they’re going to be tracking our accounts, right?”

Steve shuffles uncomfortably, reluctant to answer. “I was going to use cash.”

“From where? It’s not like you carry a wallet in your spandex.”

Steve hurries to come up with a satisfactory answer but ultimately tells the truth. “I didn’t say it was going to be our cash.”

The water abruptly shuts off, shower curtain clicking as it is pulled aside. With his augmented hearing, Steve can hear Tony’s wet footsteps as he pads towards the door. It’s yanked open to reveal Tony tying a navy bathrobe around his waist. The chest is open enough to show the top of a dark blue-black bruise high on his sternum. Catching Steve’s examination, Tony tugs the collar closed awkwardly.

“You, Captain “Righteous” America, were going to pickpocket some poor innocent’s hard earned moola?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Steve mutters under his breath but Tony obviously catches it, eyes crinkling in surprise.

“I’ll save you the inner turmoil and inevitable unnecessary journey of redemption: Dad ‘s loose change tin should still be on top of the fridge.”

Steve lets the ribbing slide, nodding his thanks before he grabs the selected clothing and heads back downstairs. It turns out the Stark definition of “loose change” is a couple hundred dollars worth of small bills. Steve puts a small wad of cash in the breast pocket of the borrowed parka and returns the rest. Bucky attempts to taunt him over the watch cap and scarf combo as he dresses but Steve just tugs on the matching gloves, flipping his friend the finger on his way to the foyer.

Steve does a double take when he gets outside. The property is as large as he expected, but there are streetlights along the tall perimeter wall. A wide paved driveway leads out to large, arched gates. Beyond the wall, Steve can hear heavy traffic and people talking. Definitely a main road then, he’s going to have to be careful that no one sees him.

He tries the gate first but there is a heavy chain and padlock threaded through its handles. Steve could break it of course, but the noise could attract a lot of attention - not to mention the fact that the gate would be left permanently unlocked. He scales the wall instead, pausing at the top to check the coast is clear. And…holy shit is that Central Park across the road? Turns out the Stark taste in real estate is a family trait.

Considering their location, finding a corner shop is easy enough. Steve makes sure to pick up staple foods like bread, milk and eggs along with toothbrushes and other necessities. Picking out coffee takes the longest amount of time with the final choice being two flavours of the fanciest granulated coffee he can find. He picks up a decent sized backpack from the school and stationary aisle before the final stop in the confectionary aisle. Bucky hadn’t asked for anything but he used to have a soft spot for liquorice and a sweet tooth before the war. The cashier smiles as he rings up Steve’s purchases, joking about him stocking up for WW3. Steve laughs back, if only the guy knew.

He orders so much food at the burger joint that they throw in an extra meal for free. The carrier bag is more difficult to scale the wall with and Steve has to wait a while for the street to be clear enough but he manages it without being seen or crushing the food.

“Finally,” is Bucky’s greeting as Steve steps into the brightly light foyer. The other man is leaning against the doorjamb off to the right, a put upon look on his face. “Thought you’d got mugged.”

Steve pushes past, heading towards the kitchen. “Yeah, they only took your food though.” He sets the burgers on the kitchen counter, shrugging out of the backpack to put the cold stuff away. The frenzied rustling is a dead giveaway that Bucky has wasted no time raiding the takeaway. By the time Steve finishes up with the fridge, Bucky already has a burger in hand, three others and a carton of chips lined up in front of him. 

Steve grumbles good naturedly, fishing three plates from one of the cabinets to rinse and dry. He pushes one at Bucky who grudgingly sets about unwrapping his claimed food to plate it up. Steve splits the remaining food, throwing the discarded wrappers and boxes back into the carrier bag.

“I’m going to take Tony’s up to him,” says Steve. The other man can barely tolerate Steve’s presences, he wont be coming anywhere near Bucky voluntarily. “Yell if you need me.”

Bucky acknowledges with a wave of his burger.

Steve takes the lift up to the third floor, plates balanced on one arm to press the buttons. Tony’s room is the only one with a light on, the rest of the floor empty and dark. The door is open but Steve still knocks out of ingrained courtesy.

“Food?” asks Tony eagerly, appearing in the doorway.

“Hamburgers and chips.”

“Plural?”

Steve passes Tony’s plate over in answer.

Tony is halfway to the desk in the corner before he pauses. “You can come in, if you want.” He drops down into a creaky desk chair, tucking into the food as if he hadn’t said anything.

Steve hesitates but the invitation seems genuine enough. The room is mid-size and obviously hasn’t been touched since Tony was a young adult. The bookshelves are piled high with technical works and half-finished inventions. The walls are painted a plain blue interrupted by posters of Einstein and Isaac Asimov, another section dedicated to pictures of the most important discoveries of the twentieth century. The wall above Tony’s desk is oddly blank, outlines of picture edges and blue-tack stains clearly visible. 

A retro lounge chair sits in the corner opposite Tony, and Steve settles into it gratefully. They eat in silence until Tony suddenly fixes Steve with a contemplative look.

“You ever have any idols?”

The question is so random it would throw someone less used to Tony’s habit of starting a conversation in the middle of a thought. Steve just answers, “Of course.”

“I meant real people.”

“A few,” answers Steve, confusion leaking into his voice.

“Ever find out they weren’t what you thought they were? Not Satan in a Sunday suit, just…not what they were supposed to be.”

“Tony, what’s this about?”

“Nevermind,” the brunet replies quickly, sucking in a deep breath. “These burgers were great, got anymore hiding in your hoodie?”

“Tony?”

“It was nothing, got a little side-tracked. This stuff-” he gestures around the room “-brings back memories. I’d rather drop it.”

Steve feels like he’s missing something important but he doesn’t want to push. Their relationship is still strained and they have yet to really resolve anything. “Alright, for now. I got some toothbrushes, I’ll bring one up for you. Do you need anything else?”

Tony shakes his head negative, passing Steve his empty plate when he gets up to collect it. There is a large file folder on the desk behind Tony. Steve wants to ask what he was looking at but respects the fact its Tony’s private property.

“Get some sleep, Tony,” he says instead, closing the bedroom door on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again lovely people <3 This is the last 2 weeks of semester for me before exams so updating will be less frequent than I would like but aiming for still 1 a week :)
> 
> Cheeky reference to Obadiah Stane being the HYDRA informant, not saying Stane was HYDRA but money talks. Also what could be in that folder??


	6. SNAFU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan...again!

Steve manages a few hours of disturbed sleep in the butler’s room. The old bed is comfortable enough - despite the musty sheets he’d tossed over the mattress earlier for Tony – but his mind refuses to quiet. Eventually the sun rises bright behind the lace curtains and Steve gets up to track Bucky down.

The kitchen is empty, Tony’s family photo in pride of place on the counter. A quick scout of the remaining ground floor rooms also comes up a bust. Steve is about to move onto the second floor when he spots the side door to the garage-turned-quinjet-hangar ajar. Steve exits the connecting corridor to the familiar buzz of radio static. Bucky is set up in the quinjet’s cockpit fiddling one-handed with the guts of the inbuilt VHF.

“About time,” he growls, directing a frustrated glare at Steve as he slides into the co-pilot chair. “Hold this.”

Steve takes the electrical circuits and wires thrust at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Had to boost the signal power. This talkie only has a 200 mile range in the air.”

“Won’t our transmission be picked up?”

“That’s the point. Hopefully the right people have their ears on.”

It takes Bucky a few more minutes to finish his modifications before he snaps the radio’s face back into place. Steve discards the spare parts into a nearby toolbox that Bucky has liberated from Howard’s possessions. Bucky is focused on adjusting the transponder channel, setting it to 281.55 before keying the microphone.

“JFK Tower this is Bravo Bravo Sierra Romeo two nine two six zero requesting METAR forecast. Over.”

“This is JFK ATC. Last caller you are not on our registered flight plans. Please repeat you call sign. Over.”

“BBSR two nine two six zero. Over.”

“Roger six-oh, we have not had a tower handover for your flight path. Over.”

Bucky sits back for a moment before returning to the transceiver.

“Cancel that JFK, we’ve had a navigation error in our flight plan. Changing channel to our handler ATC. Over and out.”

Bucky quickly twists the tuning dial up to channel 292.60. The reason behind the bogus story and call sign clicks in Steve’s head; obviously Bucky had been expecting someone to be listening out for a coded message on that particular channel.

“That was pretty damn clever,” comments Steve.

Bucky just gives him a smug look in return before gesturing for silence. “4-10, receiving?”

Static crackles before a quiet voice replies, “Loud and clear. How many band members you got?”

Steve gives Bucky a bewildered look but the other man seems satisfied by the question. “Three amigos.”

“Good to hear. What’s your 20?”

“In the backyard.”

“Take your phone with you?”

“Forgot.”

“I-spy then?”

“Park. Museum. Family. House.”

“Got it. I’ll come over for lunch.”

“Grab my phone on the way.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Out.”

Steve bumps Bucky’s good shoulder once the radio is switched off. “You gonna tell me who that was?”

“Not my lookout if you aint paying attention,” Bucky quips with a smirk.

~

Steve and Bucky have just finished setting up for lunch in the dining room when there is a shout from upstairs. Steve rushes up to Tony’s room with Bucky trailing a cautious distance behind. The bedroom door flies open as Steve reaches for the handle, Tony crashing headlong into the super-soldier’s chest. Steve automatically steadies the smaller man while searching for the threat.

“Fucking window ninja,” exclaims Tony, pointing emphatically back at his room.

Steve manoeuvres Tony behind him while asking Bucky, “your friend?”

Before Bucky can answer the silhouette of a black-clad person detaches from the shadows. “Sorry boys, had to leave the uniform in Germany,” they say, pulling the full-face hood and mask back.

Tony rolls his eyes, relaxing from his defensive stance. “Didn’t they teach you how to use doors in spy school?”

Natasha smiles enigmatically back. “I could tell you…”

“I’d rather stay breathing. Thanks for the jump scare, by the way. Just when I think you’re done screwing with me, you prove me wrong.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Natasha says, her tone making it obvious she isn’t just apologising for climbing in his window.

Tony waves a dismissive hand. “Do what you gotta do. What’s a little espionage between friends?” Natasha and Steve look unconvinced by Tony’s act. Bucky has taken the opportunity to move as far away from Tony as possible whilst still being able to hear the conversation. “Hey, how did you get away from Ross?”

“A lady has to have some secrets, Stark. Although, now that we’re talking about General Ross, there are some developments you need to be aware of. All of you.”

“Let’s take this downstairs,” Steve offers diplomatically. “You’re just in time for lunch.”

They head down to the dining room and settle around the old oak table. Tony claims a chair at the top, facing Steve seated at the other end. Nat perches on the tablet halfway down the right side, while Bucky sits at Steve’s immediate left. Tony is the first to grab a few sandwiches, using eating as an excuse to avoid looking at Bucky.

Nat scoops an old school flip phone from a hidden belt pouch, tossing it to Bucky. “First up Barnes, you asked for this. It’s old but untraceable. You have my temporary number programmed in the contacts.”

“ _Spasibo_.”

“ _Pazhaluista_.”

“What’s the situation with Ross?” asks Steve, not at all phased by the exchange of Russian.

“As you are all aware, Thaddeus Ross is the current Secretary of State. Last night an emergency meeting of the United States National Security Council was called. Ross provided footage of our more notable skirmishes and the airport battle. It was decided that “supers” pose too much of a threat to society to be allowed to police ourselves. The Sokovia Accords have been scrapped in favour of what they are calling the Superhuman Registration Act.

“According to the Act, all individuals with inhuman powers or capabilities are now required to surrender to a registration centre under their true names for assessment. Any superhuman found to be unregistered or deemed to have uncontrolled powers can be jailed indefinitely. In the case of resistance, the President has authorised use of lethal force if necessary.”

Steve jerks to his feet, chair screeching along polished hardwood. “You can’t be serious!”

“Why do you think I was pushing the Accords?” says Tony, voice hoarse.

“You knew this was on the cards?” Nat’s head tilts to the side, gaze intense with scrutiny.

“Some representatives wanted stricter regulation of abilities. It was never on the UN’s agenda, but now they aren’t the ones running the fun house.”

“We need to get our people somewhere safe,” Steve declares.

“How? We leave here and we’re fair game.”

“Alright, we bring everyone here.”

“So Ross can nuke us all in one go?”

“Wanda and Vision could handle it. We’re stronger together.”

“I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth,” Tony snaps. “You still believe that? We tear each other apart and you think we can just Assemble?!”

Steve sees Bucky freeze in place, grip white-knuckled around the table’s edge. “Let’s take this somewhere else for a sec, Tony.”

Tony gets up without a word, storming from the dining room, through the kitchen and out onto a patio.

Steve catches up to him, closing the sliding door on his way outside. “Look, I understand this is very difficult for you. I promised we could talk about it but we need to move past it for now.”

“I can’t.”

“Tony-”

“No. You don’t understand! I can’t just forget about it or put it all aside. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you- someone you trust?”

“Tony, I’ll apologise for where my decisions led us for as long as I have breath-”

“No, fuck, no. It’s not- that’s not what I’m,” Tony’s voice catches as his throat begins to close up again.

“Okay, just sit down. Take a breath.”

Tony slides down the wall, Steve crouching down beside him. They spend a long moment in silence as Tony wrestles his body back under control. Eventually he lets out a defeated sigh, head falling back with a thunk against the brickwork. “Apparently I’m still not ready to talk about it.”

“That’s alright-”

“No, you need to know.”

“But if you’re not-”

“Shut up, Rogers,” orders Tony, irritation giving him the strength to push past the fading adrenaline rush. “This is hard enough without you suddenly thinking before you act.” He takes a steadying breath. “There’s a folder, on my desk upstairs. It has things….you should be able to guess everything you need to know. I’m just going to stay here, keep the wall up.”

~

Nat and Bucky are still seated at the table when Steve gets back to the dining room, folder cradled in his arm.

“How did your talk go?” asks Nat, casually flipping a steak knife end over end. “You two still having a domestic?”

Steve drops the folder on the middle of the table, ignoring Nat’s remarks. “Tony seems to think there’s something in here I need to see. I don’t know if he meant you two as well, though.”

“It can be our little secret, Cap,” Nat says, already unlatching the expandable file folder. The first few cardboard sleeves are filled with official looking documents that Nat takes possession of. “Tony’s school records, straight A’s, interesting teachers’ comments. Handful of patents, sketchbook, technical drawings.”

Steve leaves Nat to her snooping, pulling out a heavy sheaf of handwritten letters. “Letters to and from his parents. More family photos here too.”

Bucky flinches, pulling the folder over to flick through the photos Steve spotted. Something metallic rattles in the folder as it catches on the table runner. Bucky skips the photos to search through the back pocket. Light glints off a tangle of metal and ribbon.

“Are those-” begins Nat as Bucky carefully upends the folder.

A handful of war medals slide out. Steve comes over to gently untangle them. He separates out the little uniform badges first – a presidential unit citation, purple heart and marksmanship qualification – before teasing out the tangle of medals.

“That is some serious jewellery,” is Nat’s observation as Steve reverently straightens out a Medal of Honor. “They your’s Cap?”

Steve shakes his head. “Mine are on display at the Smithsonian. Was there anything else in that pocket?”

Nat takes the folder from Bucky to give it a more vigorous shake. A bunch of papers flutter out followed by the heavy clatter of more metal.

“Dog tags,” exclaims Steve, catching the little silver discs up from the pile. “These will make it easy to-”

“Shit,” Bucky hisses through his teeth.

“Buck?”

He points to a loose sheet of paper, a tarnished bronze Sergeant’s insignia pinned to the top. “These are mine, aren’t they?”

Steve quickly flips the dog tags over to find “Barnes, James B.” engraved in neat calligraphy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I wont end the chapter on a cliffhanger....today is not that day!


	7. Revelations

_Previously:_

“Dog tags,” exclaims Steve, catching the little silver discs up from the pile. “These will make it easy to-”

“Shit,” Bucky hisses through his teeth.

“Buck?”

He points to a loose sheet of paper, a tarnished bronze Sergeant’s insignia pinned to the top. “These are mine, aren’t they?”

Steve quickly flips the dog tags over to find “Barnes, James B.” engraved in neat calligraphy.

 

* * *

 

Bucky snatches the thin silver chain from Steve, rage seething in his chest as he clutches the familiar weight. The emotion brings Bucky a strange measure of comfort from the fact it feels too real to be anything but his own. His mind is clear for the first time in longer than he cares to remember.

“The fuck is Stark doin’ with these?”

“Hold up, Buck,” entreats Steve, clasping Bucky’s shoulder.

“No,” is the snarled response as the other man jerks away. “I had these on when I swan-dived off Zola’s shit excuse for a train track. How did that bastard get my regalia?”

“If we just-”

“Why the hell would he want it?”

“I’m sure he had a reason-”

“Betcha its all part of plan. Extortion or some shit.”

“Buck, that doesn’t make sense! Stay here a minute so I can go ask Tony what’s going on.”

“Here I am sick to my stomach over what I did and he was going to play us the whole time. Shove the nice guy gig.” Bucky storms past Steve, the kitchen door slamming as he stalks out onto the patio. Tony is still curled up on the ground where Steve left him but starts to struggle to his feet at the sight of the enraged super-soldier.

“Stay down,” Bucky orders, towering over the smaller man. Tony is wide-eyed and tense with fear. He bodily flinches when Bucky hurls the dog tags at his bruised chest. “What were you planning to use those for? Thought you’d found something to use as leverage on me? I knew you were flawed, Stark, but all the stories Steve told me left out how much of a manipulative asshole you are.”

Tony’s posture momentarily crumples with hurt before firming with bitter anger. “Fuck you, Barnes!” Tony is up off the floor and up in Bucky’s face before Steve thinks to move. “You just think _‘it’s Stark, assume the worst-case scenario’_?” He rounds on Steve who is now as close to the two men as he can get without superglue. “And you! Why didn’t you just read the damn letters?”

“Huh, what?”

“Thought so-”

Bucky interrupts with a snarl. “The medals were enough. You ever been on the level? Guess it could be nothin’ to do with extortion, maybe you were lookin’ for revenge from the start - Stevie dropped you like a sack o’ shit when he found me, bet that hurt-”

“Bucky!” exclaims Steve in outrage.

But something in Tony snaps and the pain of holding the truth in becomes more than the pain of talking about it. “Yeah it did. You want to know what hurt more?”

“Try me.”

“Finding out my childhood hero – the guy I idolised and adored – slaughtered my parents.”

Steve’s rapid-fire blinking would have been funny if Bucky didn’t feel like his organs were trying to rise up and strangle him from the inside.

“The medals…?”

“Had them since my tenth birthday. Look, this is a long, shitty story that I wouldn’t be telling if the SHRA wasn’t going to screw us over unless we work together. If you’re done screaming at me, we can take this inside. I need booze but coffee is gonna have to do.”

 

* * *

 

Nat is in the kitchen with Tony when Bucky and Steve catch up. She perches on the marble countertop with the file-folder at her side. The contents have been packed back up apart from the handwritten letters resting in her lap.

“There would have been a lot less yelling if you two had thought to read these,” she says with a disapproving eyebrow raise. “People are going to think this place is haunted.”

“More like some do-gooder will call the cops.” Tony sips his coffee pointedly, gesturing at two more mugs sat beside the vintage kettle by the fridge. “Hope you like it unsweetened. The sugar was mostly mould.”

Steve collects both, passing one off to Bucky as he settles onto the bar stools on the opposite side of the kitchen bench. Tony paces agitated laps of the room, working up the nerve to finally say, “You had questions?”

“Who gave you my stuff? Your dad?”

“It wasn’t Howard. He didn’t have a lot to do with me when I was a kid.”

“What about those photos?” asks Steve. “You seemed to get along alright.”

“Bit like radiation, low intensity in short doses. Anything more and things tended to go…nuclear. Mom said we were too much alike, that dad pushed me away because he couldn’t stand to see his faults repeated in his son.”

“You do remind me a lot of him.”

“I don’t take that as a complement and neither would dad; He always wanted me to be more like you, Steve – I still envy how much love and respect he carried for you – but no matter how hard I tried I could never live up to your standard.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t. It was Howard’s choice. When I was nine he threw a big party here to celebrate Stark Industry’s success that business year. I had to be there as the future Stark protégé but there were so many people. Dad was busy hamming it up with a toast to his inspirations - mom, his parents, business partners – but then he said Captain America and I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran upstairs so fast I knocked Jarvis over. It was the first time I understood I’d never be good enough in his eyes. I was so angry and upset I cried myself to sleep.

“When I woke up there was this lady sat at my desk, watching me. Everything about her was intimidating until she said _‘Sometimes you father deserves a swift kick to the kneecaps. Would you like that?’_ I loved Aunt Peggy there and then-”

Steve startles. “You knew Peggy?”

Tony gives a short nod. “She’d stayed in touch with dad after the war. She hadn’t visited since I was a baby, bit busy being director of SHIELD. Anyway, I told her I wished dad could feel what it was like to live in Captain America’s shadow. She said Howard would never understand, but she knew someone that did. Dad looked like he was having a heart attack when I told him the next morning that I was never going to be Steve Rogers; I wanted to be Bucky Barnes.

“And finally, to answer the question, it was Peggy who gave me the medals. Some Russian fishermen netted the dog tags a few months after the fall and they found their way back to the SSR. They gave them to Peggy for lack of a living relative, along with the whole box they had on you. She kept them in case…because she knew Steve would want them when he got back. But then Howard convinced mom to ship me off to boarding school and I had a shit time trying to fit in. She gave them to me as a tenth birthday gift, said you would have been there to knock the other boys’ teeth out if you could be.” Tony takes the dog tags from the pocket of his sweatpants, holding them out to Bucky. “Ironic, really.”

Bucky accepts the chain, staring absently at the metal. “You kept these all that time?”

“Well I did leave them behind when I moved out…”

“And the letters?”

“I uh obviously didn’t make many friends. So I started writing to you. The last one is from the night-”

“I need to go,” Bucky gasps, turning away too late to hide the shell-shocked look in his eyes. He rushes from the kitchen as Steve mutters something about going after him and follows.

Into the heavy silence, Nat drawls, “Now, isn’t it better when we use our words? I think you’ve really matured as a person, Tony.”

“Bite me, Romanov.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is basically the rabid plot bunny that attacked me after writing the first chapter as a one off thing to get CW outta my head! 6 chapters later and the secret's finally out (man this was hard to get down on paper!) Lots of dialogue but I swear there will be action soon, the boys just wont stop fighting long enough for Nat to move the plot forward *_*
> 
> Well done to the people who figured out what was coming last chapter <3 I'll try my hardest to get another chapter written for next weekend but I have uni exams over the next two weeks so there may be a delay.


	8. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm yeah writing another chapter for all you lovely people > exam revision, enjoy!

Tony spends the rest of the afternoon elbows-deep in Howard’s collection of inventions. The busy work is a comforting distraction from the giant tangle of memories and emotions clawing at him. Even Nat leaves Tony alone to tinker, knowing he needs the time alone to process. Instead she takes the time to hack into the usual intelligence websites and gather what little information there is to find. The process is slow and infuriatingly difficult to run through on her phone but not the worst she has had to work with.

Eventually Nat folds the phone away with a resigned sigh; Either there hasn’t been any new developments since she last trawled for chatter or Ross has wised up and started using alternate channels. Considering the flurry of activity to rush the SHRA in, it was almost certainly the latter.

The sun is setting by the time Tony is ready to surface and Nat has taken possession of the kitchen. The spy has a train of ingredients set up in bowls along the counter and a large pan heating on the stove.

“Fire, knives and things to poison – this really shouldn’t be a surprise.”

Nat smirks as she starts cracking eggs with careless precision. “You should see what I can do with a spaghetti server.”

“I really wish that was a joke.” Tony perches on a bar stool a careful distance away from the culinary crime scene. “This better not be one of Bird Boy’s secret recipes.”

“Well there wasn’t much choice…”

“Uh no – you do remember the atrocities inspired by his Heston’s Fantastical Food marathon?”

“The blast radius he got on the exploding fruit pudding was impressive.” Nat finishes mixing and dipping ingredients, turning to drop something into the sizzling pan with an unappetising splat. “And this is actually one of Clint’s specialities.”

“Oh goodie. Ross is gonna have an easy time tracking us down at the hospital.”

“Luckily he only appropriated this one from a travelling circus.”

“Well that makes it much better,” deadpans Tony.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Nat quips, deftly flipping her gastronomic monstrosity. “Or die from it.”

All too soon Tony has a plate of food shoved under his nose. He takes a cautious sniff, picking doubtfully at the oddly heavy bread. It smells edible enough to take a cautious bite. In the next moment Tony is tearing into the rest of the slice with an appreciative groan. “Best French toast _ever_ ; I take it back, Clinton is a culinary genius.”

“Shut up and eat, Stark,” Nat says fondly, turning back to the stove to fry her own slices.

Tony is just finishing off his second serve when something starts beeping urgently. He pats down his pockets absently and comes back with an odd jumble of wires and circuitry. “Weird.”

“What’s that?” asks Nat, coming around the kitchen bench to invade Tony’s space for a better look.

“Dad was working on perimeter sensors before… I cannibalised some old junk to get them up and running. It’s probably just a glitch.” Tony smacks the device against his thigh. “The soldering’s a bit dodgy.” The noise doesn’t stop so he pulls the battery pack out for a few seconds. “That should do it,” he says, clipping the power source back in. “Rebooting always does the-”

The device lights up and immediately starts wailing a terrible siren.

“Not a glitch. Very not a glitch!”

Nat dashes for the knife block, grabbing the first two blades handy.

“Is that an outer perimeter or-”

The doorbell goes off with a shrill ring of disuse. There is an accompanying crash from above and heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Steve comes barrelling into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“Got some party crashers,” replies Nat.

“Ross?”

“No chatter on the usual channels.”

“But it doesn’t rule him out.”

The doorbell rings again.

Tony frowns. “Bit polite for a hit squad. B&E’s usually the go to.”

“Stay here,” orders Steve. “I’ll go-”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Steve spins towards the noise - instinctually pulling Tony and Nat into his shadow - only to stare in disbelief at the site of Vision hovering outside the kitchen window, synthetic hand raised in greeting.

“Of course,” Tony huffs in exasperation and then mouths “Get inside” accompanied by exaggerated hand waving.

Vision gives Tony a perplexed look before starting back towards the front of the house.

“For the love of- what are you doing? You can walk through walls!” he yells.

“Hold up, Tony,” says Steve, expression a mixture of frustration and grudging amusement. “This might be my fault. I’ll go let him in.”

When Steve comes back with the android, they are obviously at the tail end of a long discussion. “I thought that was the proper behaviour for entering a room or household. Did not Wanda and yourself-”

“Different situations. If stealth is required-”

“I see.”

“-you don’t-… What?”

“I understand now that this _situation_ necessitates secrecy take precedence over privacy. The correct conduct is not dissimilar to infiltrating the Raft in that respect.”

Tony does a double take. “You’ve been snooping around Ross’ fish bowl?”

“In the process of attempting to locate you,” replies Vision. “Colonel Rhodes enlisted my assistance when General Ross proved unwilling to provide information on his prisoners’ wellbeing.”

“Did you see them?” Steve asks sharply.

“Indirectly.”

Nat’s grip tightens on the knives she has yet to put away. “Are they okay?”

“I consider their treatment cause for concern.” Vision’s odd gold eyes cut sideways. “Wanda is particularly distressed.”

“What are they doing to her?” demands Steve.

“I believe the device is called a straightjacket. It appears to have been modified to deliver painful electrical shocks should she attempt to use her gift.”

Tony goes pale. “She’s just a kid.”

“And the others?” asks Nat. “Clint?”

“There has been no torture, however Ross’ senior officers were planning the use of sodium pentothal. They are most desperate to discover your location.”

“Shit,” swears Tony, hands balling into fists against his chest. “We have to get them out of there.”

“I’d say we all agree.” Steve moves to lay a supportive hand on Tony but restrains himself. “But you are in no fit state to be out in the field. Nat, Vision and I can handle-”

Tony gets up in Steve’s space. “No. A big part of this mess is on me. I can’t just sit around and twiddle my thumbs.”

“The suit is _dead_ , Tony,” Steve says in a deliberately level voice, standing firm in the face of the other man’s determination. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“So you know how to hack into the Raft’s mainframe and lock out access to the security systems? You could override electronic deadlocks and monitoring equipment?”

“Vision could-”

“Sure Vision can access most of JARVIS’ programming, but can you afford to have him sit the fight out?”

“I don’t want you in danger when you can’t protect yourself,” Steve grinds out.

“I’m more than a suit of armour, Rogers.”

Nat sets her knives down in favour of grabbing a shoulder of each man. “Give it up, Cap, Tony’s as stubborn as you. I’m not wiping the tears when you two start throwing punches again.”

Steve glares balefully at Nat, shrugging her hand off so he can pace a short lap around the room. Eventually he feels settled enough to come back and ask, “Everyone up for doing this tonight?”

“We’ve got nothing better to do,” Nat replies, tone approving.

“You got any weapons other than cutlery?”

“Always.”

“That’s mildly terrifying,” comments Tony as Nat gives his shoulder a final squeeze before stepping away. “What about you Captain Thrift Shop, gonna fight in your tracky-dacks?”

“Fought in worse. Did you see enough of the Raft on your tour to make a mud map?”

“More than enough.”

“Good. The flight will be long enough to hash out the details on the way. Any objections to wheels up in thirty?”

“None at all, Captain,” Vision answers.

“I’ll be right back, then,” he says, heading back upstairs to presumably tell Bucky to behave while they’re out. He hadn’t been thrilled about Tony coming along; he was hardly going to let a one-armed, mind control time bomb accompany them.

The rest are already set up in the quinjet when Steve reappears, face grim. Bucky stalks in after with a pointed look at his friend.

Nat is busy up front with Tony in the co-pilot’s chair prepping for take off. She pauses at the sight of the two soldiers pointedly ignoring each other. “Come to see us off, Sarge?”

“No,” growls Bucky with an air of absolute finality, dropping onto the passenger bench at the rearmost point of the cargo hold.

Steve sits opposite, shield gripped tightly on his knees. “Just get us in the air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Nat and Tony did have French toast for dinner, blame it on Steve and his shitty grocery shopping skills.
> 
> Finally we're leaving the Mansion! WooOOo!!!!! I swear the boys'd be quite happy to stay and squabble some more with each other, at least Nat has some back-up in Vision. Also I will explain how Vis managed to find them next chapter, couldn't squeeze it in here.
> 
> All your comments & kudos has been brightening my mind-numbingly boring, stressful week of exam prep, thank you <3


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